nothing left bot

tweeting every hour. fic is nothing left (but some blood where the body fell) on ao3. dm for requests!

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Sirius, tears in his eyes, stumbles up to the couch, grinning like a loon. (Remus thinks, Ah. That's where the light had gone.)

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@SageAshworth ik :(

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bad news for the nothing left bot community.
i kind of can’t believe this. idk what to say. i guess the appropriate thing would be bye, but that doesn’t seem enough

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@DlANG3LO ://

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He has it in him. A deep affection for all things. The ability to care for anyone like they're the only life in the world that matters.

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His scars glimmer. Sirius thinks he would rather like to put his mouth on one. All of them. Every single one.

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“You fancy him,” James says from the floor.
Sirius immediately looks like he’s going to be sick. “Ha ha,” he says weakly. “What? I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, surely.”
“For a decent liar,” James says, pushing himself to his feet, “that was fucking weak.”

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He feels like summer wind. Like the whole fucking field of dandelions wagging their heads, all sun-baked and satisfied. “Hey,” he says.
“What’s up?” she says, eyes crossing just slightly as she dabs at the clot of cream with a napkin.
“I love you,” he says.

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“Don’t say sorry,” Lily says at the same time Remus says, “I’m sorry.”

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They summon like Macbeth’s bloody witches, the three fates, and Regulus is the string they’re tugging every which way.

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Sirius lopes over, sock feet silent on the floorboards. James had never questioned it—thought it was a posh thing, walking quietly, but—fucking hell, it’s not, of course it isn’t, he is so royally stupid, it’s a Black thing, it’s a Sirius living in that house thing.

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drink the lingering juice out of my palms, the pool of my fate line maybe, I will learn to slice soft fruit without pulverizing the flesh (that sun yellow stuff on the board, cutting mango is like surgery, it is like childbirth, it is like weaving or laying railroad tracks)

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“Show it to me.”
“Show what to you?” Sirius says innocently.
“The burn,” Remus says, grabbing Sirius’s hand up and holding it close to his face,

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Marlene, muggleborn, tall and knock-kneed and wispy, stands in front of their class to the jeers of some and the gentle calls of admiration of the rest, and she glows lightly. Like there’s a bit of gold dust in her veins.

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Remus Lupin is the commentator of the March quidditch match for approximately five minutes before Sirius Black gets hit in the back of the neck with a bludger and Remus lets out a string of curses so eloquent and artful

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and her neat mascara and her enormous maroon t-shirt tucked into her flared corduroy pants. Her freckly arms are on display and her cheeks and nose and chest are turning pink with flush and he is so, so fond of her and her wily, snappish incandescence he could choke on it.

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“I’m going to find Remus. I prefer him.”
“I prefer him to you, too,” Sirius calls after him. “I only love you for the sex.”
“You don’t deserve my sex,” James yells back, perhaps a little drunk.
“You tell ‘em, Potter,” Mary says, holding her fist up.

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Take care of yourself.
With momentarily suspended animosity/Yours,
J.P.

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“Have you put money down?” Remus asks instead of answering that.
“Money down?” Frank says.
Remus claps a hand over his lips.
Lily bursts into laughter.

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“Now, if Bruce Springsteen released a Christmas album, that would be thrilling.”
“Oh, here we bloody go,” Mary says, slumping into the couch.

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they report to Minnie’s office for the first detention of their three week assignment and all she does is glare at them as they explain and then push the biscuit tin their way.